


A Fine Night

by potatopotato



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Casual clothes, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Tight Spaces, dat ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatopotato/pseuds/potatopotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Infiltrating a Talon base is not a typical nor aspiring scenario for a date, but when in the presence of one dashing archer and his equally handsome partner, anything is possible.</p><p> <br/>AKA a dessert that calls for two sets of casual clothes, one particularly tight closet, and a good pinch of D.Va bein’ a punk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This is a serious mission.” Hanzo gritted out between clenched teeth, but McCree knew he had already surrendered. His twitching brow betrayed his stern face.

“All the more reason to wear _normal_ clothes. And don't even bother trying to convince me your yukatas are casual.” Hana flipped her hair with irritation. “You're borrowing our clothes and that's final.”

They received an urgent report that evening. An underground Talon base was discovered in the port of San Fernando. Good news was that the city was located only a hundred kilometers northwest from where the four of them were stationed at Gibraltar. The bad was that they couldn't wait for backup. The temporary base was quickly wrapping up its last illegal shipment of kidnapped slaves, all of whom were either partially or fully cybernetic. According to rumor, the necessary links from the brain to the robotic replacement made submissive rewiring easier. Hell if McCree knew. He wasn't about to sign up for labrat work anytime soon.

But if he played his cards wrong, he might unwillingly discover firsthand. “You two are the only ones with prosthetics. They haven't got a clue we're hot on their trail, but one wiff of us and they’ll leg it. Someone's got to scout and this time it can't be me,” sighed Lena mournfully in their earlier debriefing. “Chin up though, Winston reckons it's an easy one.”

McCree absentmindedly pushed a lumpy piece of eggplant from one side of his plate to the other. A slimy clump of spinach fell off in the process. While a prodigy in gaming and warfare, Hana definitely did not know the first thing about edible cuisine, if the sad mash of bland vegetables was any indication. However, despite Hanzo’s insistence on cooking this week, she was fiercely stubborn. McCree had never before seen the man give boiled cabbages such a murderous look.

It’s not until the archer puttered out of sight to the kitchen, did Hana elbow McCree’s side. He's surprised to see her crack a ridiculously wide smile. “It's like a date!” she squealed.

“What, how so?” He couldn't imagine how infiltrating a highly armed operation would be remotely romantic.

She gave him a knowing smirk, propping her head with one hand. “Two months ago in Dorado was the last time you two were alone together, yeah?” Fondly, he remembered Cinco de Mayo, curiously a much smaller festival in Mexico than he had expected. The two of them stuffed their mouths with delicious mole poblano, while guitars celebrated under a starlit sky. In the colorful flurry of dresses twirling, the cowboy recalled licking salt from each other's wrists as they downed shots of sweet Tequila.

She cleared her throat sharply, jolting him out of his sudden reverie. “Ain’t the same situation, not by a long shot,” he replied gruffly. “Hana, if we slip up this could be bad.”

Her free hand slapped the metallic table in exasperation. “아이구 _Aigoo_ , don’t be such a worry wart. Find their escape route and we’ll trap them. You guys will literally be in and out within a minute! And we’ll be right behind you if anything goes wrong.”

McCree conceded with a grunt. “Well, I still don’t see how this is a date.”

They heard the faucet turn off in the kitchen and she whispered furiously. “He’s going to be wearing jeans! Your jeans.” He snorted when she silently mouthed the word _hot_.

“What he’s wearin’ ain’t gunna make the mission any less dangerous,” but he grinned regardless. Secretly, he’d been looking forward to seeing the archer in casual attire, having thought the loose pants Hanzo typically wore never gave his defined form justice.

“I'm always right on target about these things,” she mocked shooting with her left hand. “Tonight will be fun, I'm sure of it.”

“Whatever you say kid.” He waved the hand holding his cigar dismissively, but Hana kept smiling.

 

\---

 

She caught him staring unabashedly at Hanzo’s behind no less than an hour later, while they cruised on an airship headed west of Spain. The dusty blue jeans were rolled up for shorter asian legs, but tightened towards the hip with Hanzo’s thicker build, framing a perfect set of curves. He leaned by the open cockpit where Lena was currently calibrating some additional precautionary maneuvers. Meanwhile McCree’s sat a safe, inconspicuous distance away, next to a strapped mech and it’s pilot. He tucked his thumbs under a plain belt, feeling slightly exposed without his wide-brimmed hat. The rumbling from the plane’s engine purred gently below the contoured seat. Outside, occasional distant lights flickered in and out of sight.

Back muscles rippled underneath a thin shirt that screamed _ZERG RUSH_ in dark indigo tones as Hanzo picked up a runaway buckle that’d been sliding around the jet. Hana smirked next to him. “Aren’t you glad he’s wearing my shirt instead of your boring button ups.”

“Hey, my shirts ain’t borin’.” In fact he wore one now. It was a white linen collar shirt with sleeves pushed up above his elbows, not unlike the ones he typically wore beneath armor. But she was right. All his shirts were of the same style and brand. He decided not to push the subject. Motioning to Hanzo he asked, “how the hell does that fit?”

“Unisex and large, even though I bought it medium.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “It’s back when I first started playing. Before I got famous. And fit.” With a flourish of her hand, she switched the topic. “Why don’t you two get a room?”

He gawked, cigar hanging out of his mouth inelegantly. “Pardon me?”

“LOL! I didn’t mean it like that you dork.” In his peripheral, he saw the archer instinctively jerk his head at her sudden burst of laughter. Their eyes met for a split second before he turned back. “I meant at the watchpoint, there’s extra rooms. It’s not like anyone else is staying in them.”

He gestured with his hand towards the head of the airship. “Lena’s got no idea. Just you and Jack know.”

“What! You told that old geezer before you told me?” With mock indignity, Hana playfully crossed her arms in front of her and sported an exaggerated pout.

“I didn’t tell you two nuthin’. You found out by yourself. And he...well I ain’t gotta damn clue how he knows.”

She noded sagely. “Nothing catches him by surprise. One time we tried to get him a secret birthday cake on New Years.”

McCree tilted his head in question. “New Years?”

“Yeah, since we don’t know when his birthday is,” she answered, “but the day I’m about to buy the cake, he walks over and tells me his favorite flavor is chocolate.”

He chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Hana paused for a moment. “How about you? Chocolate or vanilla?”

Removing the cigar out of his mouth, he puffed out a ring of smoke. “Not a huge fan of sweets. I’m more of a savory kind of guy. Although I can’t say no to a freshly baked blueberry pie.”

“What about Hanzo?” she asked.

“Huh, never thought to ask,” he replied with a frown. “We don’t usually have dessert over drinks.”

“Well, here he comes. Why don’t you find out?” Hana quipped, slapping his shoulder as she skipped away.

Jeans hung low and snug on the sniper’s waist as he nimbly sauntered across the plated walkway. Draped around his wrist was a watch with a black leather strap, serving a dual purpose as a hidden transmitter. Although his hair was tied up in it’s usual style, Hanzo looked rather somber without the silk sash typically adorning his ponytail. He slightly bowed and McCree returned the greeting. “Howdy.”

The metal creaked quietly as Hanzo took the empty seat next to him. Faded denim creased while the man stretched a leg, relaxing. “So I got a real important question for you,” said McCree, the grin betraying his serious tone. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

For a moment it seemed as if Hanzo wouldn't respond, but then his eyes shifted upwards in thought and he answered. “Hmm, between the two, vanilla.”

“And if you could choose any flavor?”

This time his reply was instantaneous. “Green tea ice cream is far more superior. Although mint chocolate chip does come close.”

“Never took you for an ice cream connoisseur,” the cowboy teased.

A rare, small smile graced the bowman’s features as he reminisced, crow feet pulling at the corners of his eyes. “There is an old candy shop that I use to visit often as a child. Instead of chocolate syrup and sprinkles, we would top our ice cream with sweet red bean paste and rice cake.” His voice cracked as he continued. “My brother would always pick out the mochi and sneak them into my bowl. Too chewy apparently.” Despite Hanzo’s expression dimming, his left knee contacted McCree’s thigh reassuringly. Somewhere above his gut, the cowboy felt little knots twist. “I will take you there someday.”

“I’d like that.”

Beyond the bubble of comfortable silence that’d settled between them, he indistinctly heard Lena cheerfully chatting with the other girl. Slight pressure was building behind his ears, notifying McCree that they’d begun their descent. He reached for the top of his hat out of habit and finding nothing, awkwardly shuffled the back of his head instead.

“It is nice to see your face not half covered in shadow.” Hanzo said, gazing at him appreciatively.

“You ain't half bad yourself.” _A terrible understatement_ , he thought to himself. Even now his fingers were twitching, fighting the urge to wrap an arm around the shorter man’s waist. The plane rattled briefly, grumbling as it smoothly contacted the ground.

Hanzo stood up. “These pants are good. Comfortable.” He subtly shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“Keep ‘em.” _I’m a fuckin’ genius._ McCree prayed the sharpshooter would need a reason to wear them again. “I got plenty spares.” Then he too rose, casually saluting Lena as she bounded over, one hand clutching an Overwatch issued tablet.

“Alright boys, so here’s a recap of the plan…”

 

\---

 

Hanzo panicked. His entire body was rigid, fingers flinched as if wondering whether to unsheathe the hidden knife tucked under his hip. One of the three guards nudged his rifle impatiently as they waited for an answer.

McCree grunted a reply before the guard could shift again. “Beer. We were sent to get beer.”

“And ice cream.” Hanzo added, voice remarkably steady for how nervous he looked.

The mercenary on the left lifted his gun higher, suspicious. “Identify yourselves!” He barked with a heavy accent.

“The name’s Jesse Buchanan.”

“Masatoshi Hamada.” Hanzo curtly said after.

Silence followed. McCree grimaced. He began strategizing the order he'd have to kill to mitigate the unavoidable damage, when suddenly— “ _Mierda!_ Fucking Marcos. Next time I see him I’m going to make him run to the store with nothing but his socks.”

Exhaling quietly in relief, McCree fought the instinct to wipe the perspiration collecting on his neck. The outside air was uncomfortably hot and muggy, even though sundown had past hours ago. “They’re lucky we didn’t blow off their heads like we did the first time.” jeered the shortest soldier in the middle. With the barrel of his gun, he tapped Hanzo’s ass. “He always picks the best merchandise. I’d like to fuck this one.” Bloodlust pulsed through McCree, but he resisted its call.

“Come on, get back inside,” commanded the guard. And obediently, they walked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soldier 76 likes chocolate if u no whut i mean - altho maybe his tastes are changing to vanilla...really pasty vanilla lel @u@


	2. Chapter 2

The soldier ahead of them had barely time to turn when the first head cracked on the floor, emitting a sickening crunch that echoed throughout the hallway. Instantly the archer threw his knife. It lodged perfectly, sprouting unnaturally from the other man's neck. McCree was less efficient. The guard he was strangling was still struggling, writhing under his arm. As the movements weakened, he swiped the radio pinned to the man's chest and released the unconscious body.

Adjacent to them in the barely lit room, they could see the silhouettes of bodies standing in perfectly straight rows. In the air, the mixed scent of unwashed bodies and rust made McCree gag. Hanzo snarled in anger.

“There ain’t anythin’ we can do for them right now. Let's head back to that office.”

They retraced their steps along the twisted passages and a few minutes later entered a doorless room filled with tall filing cabinets. A scrappy desk with a chair sat in the corner. Papers were stacked haphazardly on top, but curiously there wasn’t a single computer in sight.

“Well, nuthin’ wrong with a little bit of readin’.” McCree whistled. “But this sure is a lotta paperwork.”

The two made a beeline for the desk and began rapidly scanning through the heap of files. Eyes lowered in annoyance, Hanzo sighed as he flipped through steel drawers, not bothering to close them as he moved swiftly. Meanwhile, McCree was jamming the sharper end of his mechanical elbow in a locked cabinet tucked below the desk. After bullying it several times, the lock broke with a snap.

“Wasn’t ever good with technology anyhow,” he mused, relocating papers to the floor. A particularly plain folder buried in the back caught his eye. He punched a fist in the air and whooped.

“Found it! Guess time in the Deadlock Gang taught me a few things about sniffin’ out trouble.”

No response. McCree pivoted his body around, curious at the other man’s indifference to his discovery. He was startled to find Hanzo hunched, sitting on the wooden stool, one hand clutching documents. Even with the sheet partially obstructed by appendages, he can make out on the roster a row of names, all beginning with the same letter: “S”.

“I was afraid, that Genji—” He stopped abruptly, face contorted with despair. Hands trembled as they crushed permanent wrinkles onto manila files. “I do not deserve to know. But I can not let go. Even after what I have done.”

McCree dropped the folder and kneeled, gently placing his palms on the man’s face. He grazed dry lips against furrowed brows. “They all slip away.” Hanzo uttered under a choked breath, barely audible.

“I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Lowering his head, McCree peered directly into glassy dark eyes. Light from the desk lamps cast twinkling stars in their reflection as Hanzo stared intensely, unblinkingly back at him. “I ain’t ever leavin’ you.”

They stayed like that for some time, silent. McCree rubbed the area around his ears and pressed kisses on closed eyelids. When the shivers were barely noticeable, McCree loosened his hold and for a precious moment, Hanzo leaned forward, as if chasing the warmth.

Hanzo stood up and his mask of professionalism settled back in place. After a few frustrating seconds fiddling with the watch, he finally moved the device closer to McCree. The cowboy winked and playfully smooched the underside of his wrist before relaying the information they’d found to Hana and Lena.

“We’ll be there in a jiffy! Stay safe loves!” chirped Lena.

McCree pushed the button on the side. As the static cut out, he returned to his earlier task on the pale skin, observing the stark contrast between the normally covered arm and the other darker, tattooed bow-arm. He sucked on the vein that pulsed there. Glancing up, he saw Hanzo redden, blush spreading to his ears. But before he could comment, a loud announcement chattered from the nicked radio, “CLEAR. Securité, Securité, Securité. 27-D-1. Two down. One medical. PRIORITY. Two intruders west wing. REPEAT. Two intruders west wing. Capture or kill. OVER.”

McCree chucked the radio in the corner when it blasted the same broadcast on repeat. “Reckon we’ll be safer if we just lay low for a bit.”

“Agreed.”

 

\---

 

As they crept into the fortunately empty kitchen ten minutes later, McCree peeked at a pot of still warm curry, wistfully looking as his stomach grumbled.

“You should not eat that.” scolded Hanzo.

“Me? I would never.” He frowned, pretending to be scandalized.

“I can make it better anyway.” Hanzo huffed as he contemplated fitting his body under a high aluminium cabinet. He had opened the larger drawers earlier to see if they could hide there, but found them filled with pots and plates.

McCree’s smile returned. “Oh ho. I’ll take you up on that.” Previously when Hanzo cooked for him, it was some strange savory egg pudding in a teacup. The texture reminded him a little of actual flan, but the custard had bits of cooked shrimp, mushroom, and other oddities. Naturally, he ate the whole thing. As long as it wasn’t raw seafood, he was sure his stomach would welcome everything Hanzo had to offer.

While Hanzo was preoccupied, if occasional shuffling and scraping was anything to go by, he explored the open pantry. The shelves were sparse and short. Not a good spot to tuck into either. But to make the venture into the kitchen not a complete waste of time, he examined a few tasteless assortments tucked in the corner, including a jar of pickles, a strange can of what looked like veal tripe and a huge bag of sunflower seeds. _Well, he didn't say I shouldn't eat these_ , he thought wryly as he tore open the bag and shoved a handful of seeds into his pocket. Suddenly behind him, he heard a screech of metal against tiles and whipped around.

“I am stuck.”

McCree couldn’t help it. He began to snicker uncontrollably, until his laugh escalated into unrestrained guffawing and snorting. Somehow Hanzo had managed to fit his entire upper body into the space between the cabinet and the floor, but his bottom was firmly wedged in between. As he struggled, his backside wriggled in response.

“Do not just stand there. Help me!” Hanzo demanded as he stopped squirming and attempted to look as dignified as possible. Well, as best he could laying on the ground.

How McCree wished he had a camera. “Alright, hold your horses.” Palms skimmed above back pockets and he couldn't resist the temptation to press firmly on the denim.

“Watch where you are placing your hands,” the archer snapped sternly. “Jesse,” he said warningly when McCree gave them a quick squeeze.

“You sure liked it last time.”

Hanzo kicked him, hard.

The cowboy grunted with pain and doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Okay, I deserved it, but that hurt. Ya got one mean kick,” he said, wheezing. Then he grabbed the man’s waist tightly and pulled.

 

\---

 

McCree heaved as they scrambled across the corridor, searching for an open room. They had just barely avoided a team of armed guards earlier and at the back of his mind, he wondered whether he should have kept the stolen radio. Hanzo quickly flung a small disc with precision and the sonar latched to the inner corner of the walkway.

“Over here,” he hissed, grabbing McCree by the scruff of his shirt. “Six around that corner.” He unceremoniously pounded a section of the paneled wall. The metal caved in mechanically, revealing a cramped closet that smelled lightly of lemon dish soap. Not wasting a second, he slammed McCree into the alcove, back first, before promptly jumping forward. The door slid back into place with a click. A few ticks later, the sound of several men marching thundered outside, unaware of their presence.

“Glad I always can count on you to have my back, pardner,” said McCree, exhaling noisily.

Hanzo scoffed. “And now we wait, _quietly_.”

Behind McCree, the gentle coolness of the bunker walls gave relief in the heat of the summer night. The closet was barely large enough for one grown man, let alone two. With their chests pushed together, he felt every breath, every heartbeat through the thin fabric between them. A fine film of dust gathered on the cowboy’s fingers when he shifted his lifted arm to a more comfortable position around the other’s waist.

Ambient light seeped in through the outline of the door, casting a dim glow on the floor. But as dark as it was, McCree was close enough to see pupils so far dilated that the ring of hazel was nothing but a sliver.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

Hanzo nodded a little. “I am...more than okay.”

“Huh? What do you mean ‘more than’?”

At first, Hanzo stood completely still, breathing calmly. Then slowly, he nudged the arm around his waist, guiding McCree’s hands to brush the front of his jeans. McCree swallowed and swore weakly. Carefully, he twisted his wrist and curved human fingers over the seams. The fabric was damp and Hanzo emitted a low whine at the touch. The gunslinger swore again. “I’ll be damned.”

“You were staring,” Hanzo accused. “Ever since the flight here. Did you think I would not notice?” He pressed his body teasingly, retreating when McCree bucked forward.

McCree growled. “If that’s how you wanna play darlin’.”

The thrill of walking so precariously between death and indulgence only aroused McCree further. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed but glinted mischievously. He feigned shushing the cowboy, placing his forefinger across McCree’s lips. In defiance, McCree playfully nibbled the finger and Hanzo exhaled sharply as he continued, sucking it to the second knuckle. McCree's free fingers hooked through belt loops, pulling Hanzo’s hips flush and tight against his groin. The archer’s eyes fluttered up, a guttural groan reverberating through the walls.

McCree nuzzled under the jaw, beard tickling his face, and delivered fleeting kisses onto skin, feeling like a god before an offering when the shorter man tilted his neck underneath McCree’s lips. Teeth dragged across a collarbone and tongue paused to lavish the dip, tasting sweat. He inhaled deeply and smelled pine incense, rain and sweet sex. The scent was absolutely addicting.

Beautiful, calloused hands skimmed under McCree’s shirt, exploring with greater urgency as they moved upwards. Hanzo pulled roughly at the hard nipples, rolling the nubs with his thumbs and eliciting a pleasured sigh from the cowboy. Then suddenly he stopped.

They both heard it at the same time, a strange rustling of thick fabric. Seconds after, metal soles clinked on the ground and walked, stopping only a few feet away from their hiding spot.

Snapping of heels upon the perforated steel floor joined the first heavier steps. Both men froze to almost complete stillness, with just McCree’s hand rubbing soothing circles on the bowman’s lower spine. Their warm faces flushed side by side, he could feel the hot puffs of breath on his neck struggling to regulate, but failing.

“What do you mean you can’t find them?” snarled a familiar, grating voice.

“Let’s not be so melodramatic. I’m sure we’ll pinpoint two fugitives hiding among a thousand, with all of them cybernetic.” The women’s silky tone, shaped by a light French accent, reminded McCree disturbingly of skittering centipedes. A low grunt of affirmation was followed by an irritated, but graceful sigh. “That’s sarcasm my dear Reaper. Now please get the fuck back to work.”

His growling retort paused abruptly. Through the metal wall, McCree barely caught the faint static cut of an intercom. “There’s a disturbance at the south pier.” Back muscles finally relax underneath his fingers as the clanking footsteps faded away. Their breaths shuddered, breaking the held silence. “Excitin’ ain’t it?” McCree beamed.

“Really too exciting,” replied Hanzo, grumpily.

From his back, McCree’s hand trailed down, tracing the skin just above the waistband, as if waiting for permission and Hanzo slowly rocked his hips in encouragement. McCree groaned softly when his hand slipped beneath and found nothing but bare skin. _Holy hell._

With his other hand, McCree fumbled between them, unbuttoning the jeans and inhaling sharply when Hanzo continued to thrust against his prosthetic fingers. He was just about ready to rip off the damn button when suddenly the opening loosened and Hanzo’s cock sprung forth lewdly amidst black curls. The tip glistened with copious amounts of wetness, peeking out from tight foreskin. Instantly McCree mouth watered.

“You're so wet.” He cursed the lack of space, wanting nothing more than to smear the precum all over his lips, taste the seed deep in the back of his throat— find release from just listening to the moans of the usually quiet man.

“I have been like this.” Hanzo said, breathless. “Since I put your jeans on.”

Hanzo’s hands dragged down, following the coarse hair that started at McCree’s naval. He unbuckled the belt, pulling the zipper down. “The cloth was rubbing and it felt good,” he confessed in a whisper. “Every time, I imagined I was grinding against you.”

McCree felt hazy, desire pooling and spreading to his loins like thick magma. He murmured, “like this?” Gently jostling Hanzo’s hands aside, he swiftly pressed his shaft through the opening of his boxers and slid it deliciously next to Hanzo’s dripping length. Hanzo muffled a gasp by smashing his mouth upon McCree’s neck. Panting, he began to rut with fervor, friction rippling through them in a blaze of euphoria.

“I want to fuck you,” Hanzo growled. He bit at the junction between neck and shoulder and McCree rolled his hips helplessly under Hanzo’s feral gaze. Nails raked down his back, cutting dangerously between bliss and discomfort.

“Back at base? You want to stop?” McCree gasped, barely coherent between breaths.

To his relief the sniper shook his head impatiently. “No. I cannot wait.”

With one hand, he guided McCree’s metallic hand to their cocks and they both groaned at the sudden chill touch, practically freezing in contrast to their flushed skin. McCree stroked gently, carefully wrapping his fingers around them. But he wanted to watch Hanzo come first. In every other pump of his hand, he grazed the head of Hanzo’s dick, spreading the seemingly infinite slickness that pulsed from the slit.

Soon Hanzo was writhing. “Jesse,” he moaned quietly. With his thumb, McCree massaged the nub just before the tip and simultaneously kissed Hanzo, swallowing his cries as he bucked and convulsed against his hand. Warm, translucent liquid dribbled over his grip while McCree continued to milk the orgasm, tugging the shaft, until Hanzo was too sensitive, weakly pawing at his arm.

McCree grasped his own erection after, still gazing at Hanzo’s face with unfocused eyes. He was so hard, his member throbbing, dark red in his slippery hold. His mouth latched onto Hanzo’s, relishing in the tangle of tongues, masking obscene noises. When Hanzo lifted his thigh, he grinded on the denim, slowly losing his mind under the intoxication of ardor and ecstasy. “ _Come_ ,” Hanzo commanded in Japanese and McCree choked; flares of pleasure cleaved behind his tightly closed eyes. His knees threaten to buckle as he spilt into his fist, release mixing with the other man’s semen.

He leaned on Hanzo for support, ragged pants subsiding. When his heart finally stopped beating loudly in his ear, McCree laughed shakily. “That was awfully good,” he snuffled, propping his chin above Hanzo’s head. The sniper didn’t reply, but his arms curved around McCree’s body, hands hooking behind his back.

Minutes passed in the calm afterglow, before McCree mustered up the energy to wipe the slick on the walls and tuck them back to a more respectable state. Hanzo exhaled sharply, the puff of breath cool on his overheated body.

“What’s wrong sweet pea?”

Immediately, the archer wrinkled his nose at the absurd endearment. “After all that exercise, I am a bit hungry,” he admitted.

McCree chuckled. “Well lucky then I nabbed some snacks earlier.” Digging into his pocket, he took out a few sunflower seeds.

He felt lips pull into a smile upon his neck. “This is why you always have these.” Moving his hands up and down, Hanzo massaged the love handles hanging off McCree’s waist.

“H-hold up! No grabbin’ unless you wanna peel these yourself.” Hanzo doesn’t reposition his hands, but he stopped squeezing and leaned backwards to face the cowboy. Cracking them between his teeth, McCree shelled the seeds and brought them to the man’s mouth. Hanzo parted his lips coyly, occasionally darting his tongue to lick the salt from McCree’s fingers.

“Tastes like us.”

McCree almost choked on a kernel. The sated coil in his crotch stirred. “God, you keep that up and I ain’t gonna last.”

“Haste makes waste,” chided Hanzo, never wasting a chance to recite an idiom. He chewed slowly, savoring the roasted, grainy flavor. “It will be worth the wait,” he promised.

When the pocket was empty and all the seed husks scattered on the floor, Hanzo shifted, slotting his body against McCree’s. Then he relaxed, humming contently as McCree threaded his fingers through hair.

 

\---

 

Sudden knocking on the metal door jolted the dozing archer leaning on his chest to an tense and upright position. A pang of apprehension swept through McCree as he opened the door. The fluorescent light flooding into the closet momentarily blinded him, but as he gained his sight he was greeted by a waving girl and her giant mech. They awkwardly shuffled out of the closet.

“Hi 아즈씨 _Ajusshi_.” She looked rather sheepish, lips curved into a cat-like smirk. McCree noticed a suspicious light blush in her cheeks. Faintly from the headset resting on her neck, he could hear the sound of giggling.

“Umm, you forgot,” with one hand, she gestured towards the transmitter on Hanzo’s wrist. McCree knew already before he looked down. There the tiny blue light flashed, indicating he had only muted the intercom, rather than switching it completely off. She winked slyly. “Sounds like you two had a fun time.”

McCree half considered stepping back into the room and shutting the door. Beside him, Hanzo coughed embarrassedly and averted his head, the tip of his ears coloring a rather violent shade of red. But he doesn't furiously march off as McCree expected. He doesn't frown either. Instead, he pressed his hip a little closer, stealthily brushing his hand against his and McCree can’t help but grin like a fool at Hana. She was right as always.

What a fine night indeed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id like to dedicate dis tale of hanzo the kuudere and dat cowboi to the mchanzo discord channel -seriously though, i am extremely grateful. thank you to all in it and may y'all keep doin what you love


End file.
